Her Eyes Were As Green As A FreshPickled Toad
by Emmy Award
Summary: During the last year of the war, Lily looks at a photo and remembers her sister. Slight LilyJames. Short, 1007 words.


_**Title:** Her Eyes Were As Green As A Fresh-Pickled Toad_

_**Rating: **K_

_**Characters/Ships:** Lily, Petunia, Lily/James_

_**Canon:** PS thru OotP_

_**Disclaimer:** None of this belongs to me. It's all JK Rowling's. This is just my last hurrah before Half-Blood Prince comes out in (squee!) eight days._

---

In seventh year, just after Lily had decided to go out with James Potter, he got it into his head that he had to do something impressive every other day to show he was worthy of her love and wrote her a series of awfully bad poems, one of which was devoted to her eyes. Far from turning her into a lusty pile of yearning, it reminded her of the time her older sister Petunia told her that it looked like someone had just shoved two toads into her face and then pulled eyelids over them.

Petunia was always lovely like that.

Sometimes Lily fancies she hates her sister. It just seems much simpler that way.

She hasn't seen Petunia for three years now. Doesn't really think of her much anymore. James always thought Petunia was a right cow, as well as a couple of other things Lily wouldn't repeat in McGonagall's presence.

'Now that,' says James, 'is an absolute beauty,'

He has a box of photographs next to him. (Remus has encouraged them to archive.) In James's hand is a photograph that Lily, with her extensive experience of James's friends and Peter's penchant for taking slightly odd photographs, is not entirely sure she wants to see.

She leans over anyway. 'Let's see it then.'

It is Hallowe'en, seventh year. The Hallowe'en she wasn't speaking to James. Well, actually, there were a lot of those. That was just the first time she'd really cared. Sirius is forefront, parading around with a pumpkin on his head. He should look ridiculous. Somehow (because he is Sirius, Lily thinks) he does not. The same can not be said for James, who has pumpkin innards clumping up his hair and spotting his glasses. Remus, she realises as Sirius unceremoniously dumps load of pumpkin pulp down the back of his robes, has not fared much better; though at least he is smiling, whereas James looks like someone sat on his pet Puffskein.

'You smelt like pumpkin for a week after that,' she says, remembering. 'Did you ever bathe at school?'

James grins at her. 'Of course. And anyway, as I recall, you weren't talking to me that week.'

'You started it,' she rejoins calmly.

'That I did,' he agrees, still grinning, the idiot. 'But then you realised how irresistible and sexy I really was and how thick you'd been all those years not to notice and it all ended -'

'Behind the tapestry, I know,' Lily finishes dryly, because after all, James likes to recount this story often.

'It was a very nice tapestry, I think,' James ruminates, rifling through his box of photographs presumably for another suitably silly one. 'Nice colour. Very handy alcove.'

'Shut up, dear,' Lily says pleasantly, because honestly, once James got started he could go on for ages. She had used to hate that about him. Now she's got used to it. She's got used to a lot of things.

He just grins and picks up another photo. He's becoming nostalgic, Lily can tell, because he's got that same soppy grin plastered across his face that he has when he and Sirius drink themselves stupid and reminisce about old Quidditch games and schoolboy pranks and various misdemeanors and what they term 'the glory days.'

She can't believe that they're only twenty-one, and thinking about school as the glory days. Sometimes she wants to weep, because what else can her generation do?

'Oh look,' he says. 'Quidditch Cup, fifth year.'

'School photos box,' Lily directs, pointing at said box. 'You're getting distracted, James.'

The grin fades, and he looks tired for a brief moment. 'Can you blame me, Lil?' he asks, and she realises that no, she really can't.

So she half-smiles and picks up one of the photos beside her right knee. 'Chuck this one in the family box, will you?'

He takes it, and laughs. 'Oh wow. Is that Petunia? And you?'

'Yes,' she replies in a short tone that says 'please drop the subject', but James, epitomising the thickness of all male kind, doesn't notice.

'You both look quite sweet, actually,' he says, still smiling. 'Shame about Petty.'

She doesn't chide him the nickname like she normally does, because it is a shame. Sometimes, deep into the night when James is on duty and Harry is snoring lightly in his crib and she can't sleep, she thinks about Petunia. Like the time she defended Lily in the schoolyard when Beth McIntyre was ragging on her for something that Lily can't even remember now, or like the time when their mother was sick and they made her breakfast, even though the eggs were burnt and the toast was soggy.

Petunia taught Lily how to knit, and how to plait her hair. Petunia played with her in the garden for hours and picked flowers with her from Mrs Parry's garden next door. Petunia sat with her in the garden and waited for fairies behind the potting shed even though she plainly thought Lily was an idiot for believing in them. Petunia used to not be ashamed to call Lily her little sister. And now, Petunia hasn't spoken to her for three years.

'Put it away, James,' she says, suddenly tired, and awkwardly shuffles over to him and lays her head in his lap. He gently strokes her hair, and places the photograph in the family box. He doesn't pick up another one.

She remembers the photo very well. She was four and Petunia was seven. They were all dressed up to go to their aunt Henrietta's wedding, and their mother had placed them at the front of the house, next to the garden beds of peonies. Petunia was in pink, Lily in white, and they were holding hands.

Deep in the night when James is on duty and Harry is snoring lightly and she can't sleep, Lily realises she doesn't really hate Petunia.

She just wishes she did. It would be so much simpler.

---

end


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